Sleepy I Love You's
by sincerely-TheBreakfastClub
Summary: It's so late or maybe it's very early, and Baz finds his starry-eyed golden boy asleep, with a book propped up by his head. Baz clicks off the light and tucks in his insanely adorable boyfriend, but he wakes up and says some sleepy fluffiness.


**Baz**

' _Your work has been submitted on time._ ' I sigh in relief as I close my laptop, finally done with my huge uni essay. I set my laptop on the dining room table, next to my keys and jacket. _I might as well live here, enough of my stuff is constantly cluttering Simon and Penny's already cluttered flat._ I yawn loudly, my long, lanky arms stretching above my head, and then falling to rest at my sides. I quietly pad across the floor, heading towards Simon's room, as I flick off the small lamp I was using to finish writing my assignment. Darkness envelopes the tiny flat, and that's when I notice a sliver of light coming from underneath Snow's door. I turn the knob, silently cursing myself for the way the door creaks, as I slip into the dimly lit room. A soft laugh escapes me when I observe the scene before me.

My darling boyfriend is splayed across the bed, limbs stretched out and taking up so much space I wonder how I don't end up waking up on the floor more often. His golden curls spill across my pillow, (he always ends up on my pillow, who knows why) and the warm light makes his bronze skin glow. His tawny moles are distracting the hell out of me right now, (they just look so damn kissable), and I want to lean against his gently rising chest and ghost my lips across every single one of them. I tiptoe over to the bed and I almost do kiss him, but then I notice the book propped open next to the right side of his head.

The corners of my mouth turn up into a small smile as I pick up the book and flip it over to the front. (Simon's really into YA books right now and he's always obsessing over how bittersweet and wonderful and silly they are. I think it's adorkable. (Yeah I said adorkable, fight me)) I don't recognize it, but the cover page is of a red-headed girl with a yellow shirt and a black-haired boy with a blue shirt listening to a set of intertwined headphones. It looks cute, (not that I would ever tell Simon that), and I might read it. I close it, making sure to stick a slip of paper in between the pages it was propped up on, and gently set it on the nightstand. (I learned that the hard way, the last time I closed his book without marking the page first ended up in a very intense pillow fight. I'm not complaining though, I ended up tackling him to the ground and snogging him senseless for the rest of the night.)

I quickly change into an old shirt and a pair of trackies, and both had stains that suspiciously looked like sour cherry scone filling. _Well these are Simon's, what did you expect? I swear more food gets on his clothes and around his mouth than in his actual stomach. God he's such a mess._ I sigh as I correct myself. _A beautiful mess._ As I turn off the light on his/my side of the bed, (we end up on each others sides so much it's impossible to tell whose side is who's), Simon stirs and sleepily props himself up on his elbows with half-closed eyes.

He looks around for a second, as if trying to remember where he was, before he notices me watching him. He looks a little startled, almost if he didn't expect to see me, but it's quickly replaced with a warm, goofy grin. It makes me melt into a puddle of feelings when he does that. Sometimes I'm still convinced this is all an elaborate dream my subconscious decided to torture me with. I'll wake up, staring up at the ceiling of our room at Watford, while Simon slumbers on not quite four feet away from me, blissfully unaware as usual. But then I feel strong arms snake around my waist, pulling me down to tangled limbs and shared breaths, and I know this is real. Simon giggles as I gently kiss the moles under his eye and on his cheek, and I melt all over again. He brings me even closer, his eyes droop closed in the soft darkness, and a stream of sleepily jumbled words spill out of his mouth.

"Hi Baz what are you doing I'm glad you're here you feel nice and I love you love love you."

I grin, a smile too big for a Pitch's face, at this gorgeous boy who's so sleepy as he tells me he loves me. I can't believe he's _mine_.

"I love you too, Simon Snow," I whisper back, and even though he's asleep and I know he can't hear me, he smiles anyways. He's so perfectly imperfect and messy and beautiful and oh so lovely. He's too sweet for his own good and he worries about all the the little worms getting stepped on when it rains and he eats scones like there's no tomorrow and he kisses me like I'm something he lost but found again and I love him so much it hurts. But it's okay, it's a good hurt. It's a good hurt because he's _mine_.


End file.
